tall girl,
           short boy,
mutually
           immersed
under
          starlight.

She is clad
in white,
even the stain
on her satin
underwear
is pallid.
As tear drops
well up
in both eyes,
she pleads,
"For God's sake
always wear white,
Do not  provoke
the bull in heat
by showing red
in front of the
huffing beast"

Spare a thought
for her, discern
her reasoning
well, see her plight
with open eyes.

Men in black
with violent streak
imbued from
stone age powwows
are on the march
through high streets,
colonizing homes.
Media, self obsessed
and power drunk,
periodically shriek
make mandatory
noises to please itself,
but to no avail,
in a globalized world,
strangely  getting
polarized in micro level
men and women, remain
just pawns pulled in to
the simmering cauldron
of boiling  turmoil.

But see this;
a woman in white,
holding up a white flag
she signals surrender
in abject fear,
can't attack her, right?

without a word
we told each other:
"let's not explain anything
and stop the rainbow from vaporizing"
the moment stood still,
like a big red blimp
hovering above
                        overlooking
the breath taking vista of hills
                          where the dawn
displayed its magic, yet again
but in front of our eyes, like never before,
the moment suspended motion,
for a long long while,
till we lost all sense of time;
wasn't it heaven brought down for us?
will it happen again, our hearts beating in unison,
repeatedly was asking.

The night sky of sleep
was ebulliently psychedelic,
specs of colors, yellow, brown, red,
created an ancient language
that spoke, secrets of a forbidden past,

The helicopter crept through,
the sky, tearing the canopy
of lights momentarily,
landed on a high rise apartment of dreams.

                                Now, after all these years,
difficult to remember,
who lives where;
aren't we somnambulists,
without navigational aids?

I would suddenly wake up
from one dream
                             within another -

soft touches of tender fingers,
sweet whispers in my ears,
soft light spreading its palm on an exposed shapely breast,
                                                         ­         I'll sense a disquiet,
a sigh, the pangs of a weeping heart, incidental results of
a life of passion, strife and agitation,
getting ****** by currents,
diving deep in to swirling waters
                                                          ­    

                                                           ­     In a dream, a young woman,
                                                          ­      standing on a podium, in a class room,
                                                           ­     teachers in a trembling voice
                                                           ­     how to appreciate poems:
                                                          ­      "From beyond light years,
                                                          ­       comes our grief..."
                                                       ­         the scene dissolves in to mist.
                                      
                    ­                        silence!


I am an yellow moon,
she is the pale mist circling,
we are in an embrace, momentarily,
                                         in a dream
in the jeweled bed of the night sky.

Winged ants’ fly past day.
At its height, wingless all fall;
Willing chicken feed!

Yes, the night vision binocular
we call science, is fantastic!
Good to locate distant things at night,
but tell me, by any chance is it helpful
for the user to locate oneself/self ?

Everyone blind
has a sun each.
In loving sun,
eyes have limits.
Sun is merciless,
blinds any one
who  tries to overreach,
that's not a lot of fun!
After a day's
relentless march,
a spectacular dusk,
announces the finis.
Night comes on tip toes
a disguised thief,
to rob everything left
none would resist.
The world is in masquerades,
if you are lucky enough
get the beams,
of moon's cool grace-
on your searing wounds,
and sleep without dreams.
And then again
breaks the dawn,
with an innocent smile,
as if it is the first time ever;
the game continues.

Under lovely arched brows,
          those            eyes,
                pyrophori­c,
                                  opalescent,
                ­                                  lascivious;
                   ­                                          invite--
                         forbidden thoughts
                                            to my mind.

In a golden goblet, I was offered
the last drop of honey, tasting bitter;
*a wave of sweetness, rushed to engulf,
from the seething sea of memories.

Speak to me in wordless silence,
though we are so far apart,
swift winds will bring the woeful sighs,
your heart, sends out for me to hear,
send your heart beats, soft and warm
through the wings, the winks of a  lonely star,
i would hear in my doleful moments
those  poems of your brooding heart.
every beat of my heart will seek you,
" the  scent of wild flowers!" you 'd think,
*Speak to my heart every moment,
though we may not come together again

On the high stage, his clumsy swan has transformed
in to a dancing flame, though  sensed a twist
in the script, he sat eyes fixed on her, feeling gratified,
within moments, in perfect timing she changed colors
mesmerized everyone, to him certain moves were baffling,
unexpected, still he beamed, his eyes shone thinking,
"All that dancing beauty is mine".But can one contain a flame?
was he letting himself down by  being possessive about a beam?
(It's too early to feel proud about new loves and mango flowers,
he used to hear uttered often when he was still a callow youth)

When the applause died down, a commotion followed
a rush of people to see her up close, then a silence
that was not intended, he was waiting for her, what went wrong?
He waited for the swan that came into her own, within his embrace,
to return, like a farmer who thought all mango blooms are fruits.

Surrounded by admiring eyes, she didn't find a need to look at his side
and when he decided to go and look for his swan and take her home
he was shocked to find that away she had flown,
over his dreams, above the fluffy white clouds, never to return

"Perhaps I am late" perplexed he thought and rushed forward,
the place was deserted as if an invisible  cloud of grief has descended.
The intermittent gun shots , he mistook as the beginning of  fireworks,
he stepped on the manicured lawn, wondering where all others had gone.

He stopped stunned,blood was splattered allover, there a night began .

Though looked stunned
in his expression,
                       the dead man
                       was pleased
with all arrangements
perfectly done.
Only cause of worry
even then, was the
reason of death cited
in the papers: Pollution!
"Frivolous, isn't it?
Not even a solid reason,
for returning to the pavillion.
Inglorious, what else,
though this as a cause
is getting more and more popular
in these days of global warming"
a thought free of body floats around,
unheard by anyone.

On banana flower's *******
Three avaricious bats suckle.
Above, few still circle.

Sipping  hot drink
from a silver mug
he feels immensely pleased,
so smug! Oh! he feels great,
what makes it so special?
not just the hot drink in the mug,
the mug,being sliver, takes him
to a new height
of well being,
why this,
he puts his thinking cap on
just a thought
with a coating of silver,
makes him feel
the golden glow
of being
bliss from a mere thought!
******* by a mere thought!!
the one that creates thoughts
has the bridle power to decide,
the state of being.
between one thought
and the next,
there is a swing,
he sits there, as mind
-a thought created by a thought,
of a forefather of yore,
right there in the beginning,
passed over to generations,
with a bit of genetic material,
DNA to be precise,
activated again by a thought.
If only he could still
his recurring waves of thoughts,
stop throwing stones
in to the tranquil pond,
inside the meditative mind,
the waves will sleep,
the bubbles will dissolve,
for ever in to its origin,
the first wave of creation,
the primordial hum
Om sweet Om
making him aware that
he is bliss itself.

Susan is emotions blossomed in wrong season,
never her eyes let me estimate the true depth of her feelings
I see them apologize candidly  in the next moment,
I try to understand her compulsions.
In fleeting moments I get a glimpse of her
emotional education totally gone wrong
creating within her wrong time flowering.

Susan is passion, but struggles for right expression
her panting and chanting amorous nonsense
is her prop to climb stairs with me, but she never holds my hand
helplessly I watch her fall down from the top stair,
and writhe in shame and guilt, I try to alleviate, in whichever way I can.

Susan's messed up garden of childhood is a secret
that seeped out from the fables and legends she would recount
I curtain it off, when we lay cuddled and see dreams
That frozen December, I hate, that comes as an uninvited guest
regularly in our lives, we try to forget
I wake up dreaming her step with me in to  
the warm garden of spring, and see her sleep smiling.

Super star, be prepared for a resounding fall
when the limit of  your stardom, time decides
unless you aren't aware the golden truth
"All flesh is grass"; any star is reduced to dust
in a day to come sooner or later, there is a time-
for everything, to call it quits and feel rightly contented.

the sky, a cauldron
steaming soup is getting cooked,
moon, butter floats on.

Just pretend, you are that orchid, scenting musk,
never even once touched by the winds that lurk,
here I come, the wind you've waited for long,
**embrace me with every amorous intent, let's dissolve.

Gently I  woke up in an ethereal hour,
as the permeating scent of a wild flower,
after roaming many many lives as insects,birds
animals wild in the forests and sea creatures

As the story went on, chapters changed
I stumbled and fell in to her curious eye
with out knowing who she was or why
all I remember was her radiance and sigh
that lifted me,at once to a level too high

Later,after many cycles,a cloud,I realize this:
a piece of clear blue sky I need immediately
her blue eyes, to dissolve bit by bit and die.

He packs his bags and leaves,
                    she stands stupefied, like  a doll,
they have crossed the threshold,
                 **but love is  still a glint in their eyes!

let everything go
at a glowing moment's prompt,
no looking back to the paths
that went winding through
the landscapes, both  barren and verdant.
Slowly started to fall
from nowhere to nowhere
like the flow of a symphony
heart rending, rising to a crescendo.

Touched the acme. Gently

started to fall like an ice flake,
simultaneously freezing and melting,
as if not yet decided what is the best,
don't know how long it kept
going on like a dream sequence,
though never moved a bit.

then--

eternal, shining moment
like a rainbow arch appeared at
the mind's horizon.
All illusions dissolved
like  vaporous clouds  in the blue sky.
visions of many worlds
merged in to one.
felt the light that engulfed
has a voice,
dissolved self is in it
as it's lilt.

My frenzied doodles,
turn alluringly curvaceous,
my little boy watching this,
with a sudden twinkle in his eyes
yell repeatedly,"Milk".
He  demands, "whose?"
what should the answer be,
*I put on  my thinking cap quick
and step in to his  baby shoes.

She tries to put that favorite poem of her's to sleep
it wasn't easy as it spoke of pain, made her weep,
kept on talking about losses, promises not kept,
fighting losing wars, strifes and  getting  lost.

She waited for the night, fully covered in black tresses
the ample woman, compassionate, who gently would caress
in night's presence and  deft manoeuvres all weeping stops.

She sighs, no more poems resurrecting the reign of pain, she hopes
forgets what makes her nightly haunt this place, that she is a ghost

A regal white heron,
a bird of passage
that had followed
it's beloved dream
a long, long distance,
sits quiet unmoving,
atop a flowered lemon tree
on the bank of a tranquil pond
that wasn't known to it before.

Fish, enjoying freedom,all along
play meddling it's reflection
as if daring the heron to act
by trying to catch it's attention.

The crowned heron,
more placid than the pond
on the wings of an elating thought
resumes journey chasing it's dream.

mighty armies of pelf attack,
grannaries one by one surrender.

A vanishing cloud, ethereal with a heart shaped red blot in the middle
told her without words, "It's time to dissolve, I can't wait anymore,
it's night, my eyes droop I have to sleep, no time is ripe to say goodbye ever
don't grieve, I am not going anywhere, be back here as things you love most
a strain of music wistful in the evening air, a lovely bird streaming blissfully
in cold mountain air, a sad poem that makes a mother cry for a short while
then dry her eyes and smile,or anything you love without any reason obvious,
will you remember me then, when I am in another, mother dear?"

Eschewing that second thought,
let me tell you what I truly sought
come, lock me up in your heart
you, I've no doubt  is a true despot

I don't hold back, life is way too short
can't heckle and haggle like an idiot
on the planes, see  profligacy of robust water
hills are in the reign of wild sun and winds

Here ends the vast fields of ripened  rice,
where prowl crooked foxes eyeing hens,
on the foot hills furious bisons flare nostrils,
as you climb,eager leopard smells blood.

Love is the  fragrance  that outlives the flower,
my trek to the mystic mountain continues where
**** and shroom grow tangled  everywhere
the trek to the love hill, to strike  gold,is in progress,

wind kidnapped the clouds,
stars out on sky yard to play;
it rains silver light!

Stealthily she moves, like a ghost,
               None seems to notice her dark presence,
"Here I am near his bride" vengefully she hisses,
                  Then remembers, "Already I am a ghost"

showers set the tune,
torrents drum on the high roof;
cloud burst change the tack.